


The J Is for July

by FacetiousKitten



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M, Newt being a goober, Pin Me Up! Zine, Pinups, Zine, my demon is the centerfold, off-screen sexiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FacetiousKitten/pseuds/FacetiousKitten
Summary: “Wait a minute. What’s this?” Anathema picked up what looked to be a calendar. A calendar full of…“Is that a pinup girl?” Newt asked.She held her thumb on the bottom edge of the calendar and rapidly flipped through the pages. “Twelvepinup girls.”“Oh, my dear Lord.”Written for Pin Me Up Zine!
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39
Collections: Pin Me Up Zine





	The J Is for July

**Author's Note:**

> Want to see Crowley in all his pinup girl glory? Well, childrenofthesun created a gorgeous companion piece [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362434/chapters/72888546) (Warning: BOOTY)

Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer, being resourceful and clever individuals, tracked the angel Aziraphale to his bookshop mere days after Armageddon failed to occur. It took a great many more days to convince Aziraphale to let them peruse his wares. Once they did – only after much cajoling and more than a little outright aggravation – they scoured the shelves for knowledge to devour. Tomes of witchcraft and wizardry, philosophy and philology, astrology and astronomy… All these, and more. A. Z. Fell & Co. was their playground.

Aziraphale didn’t let them take books _out_ of the shop, of course, but he was fine to let them read. Carefully. With gloves on.

“And, my dear fellow, do try not to breathe on them.”

Newt clammed up like he held a pearl in his innards. But, Anathema smiled sweetly and said, “Right. We’ll just turn off our lungs. Like every human can. The same way that angels can.”

Aziraphale curled his hands together and backed away. “Yes, of course. Ah, sorry, my dear.”

“We’ll be careful, Mr. Aziraphale,” Anathema said. “Promise.”

After all of that, there was plenty of poetry and prose to peruse, but one particular afternoon found them perusing a personal collection of Aziraphale’s. It was rather a winding path which took them there, but the important part was that they had centuries of history at their fingertips, as seen through Aziraphale’s ancient eyes.

“Look at this old pamphlet on alchemy!” Anathema cried. “Some of this was genuine witchcraft.”

Newt’s face twitched as he read. “And this letter describes a robot that played chess. It even beat _Napoleon_ in a chess match! Why’s that so familiar?”

“Wait a minute. What’s this?” Anathema picked up what looked to be a calendar. A calendar full of…

“Is that a pinup girl?” Newt asked.

She held her thumb on the bottom edge of the calendar and rapidly flipped through the pages. “ _Twelve_ pinup girls.”

“Oh, my dear Lord.”

Anathema opened to January, wherein a curvaceous young woman looked inordinately shocked over a cake batter mishap. “Do you think she’s surprised because she’s naked?”

“Uh. More like, she’s surprised that the batter covered her- you know.” He motioned toward his chest.

“Covered what?” She batted her eyes, innocent as a newborn foal. “Her nipples?”

Moving right past that, lest he chance an _extremely_ obvious symptom of arousal in the middle of an age-old celestial being’s earthly home, Newt said, “This was in his things? I assumed he was, you know. A _man’s_ man.”

She laughed, the sound alighting on his ears like butterflies in a wasteland, raindrops on desert sands. “ _Crowley’s_ man, more like.”

They didn’t know the exact nature of Crowley’s relationship with Aziraphale, but once they’d caught the pair canoodling behind the bookshop till, they felt free to make some assumptions.

“We should put it back.” Newt paused. “Shouldn’t we?”

Anathema glanced at Aziraphale, who was arguing with a customer in his aggressively polite manner. “Don’t you want to see February?”

What titillating images resided in a seventy year old calendar, kept by an age-old celestial being? Newt had to know. He wished he didn’t _want_ to know, but he definitely did.

February was a cute Valentine’s Day scene, though she looked cold, caught up in all that snow. For March, Spring had sprung, and the young lady in the image looked springy, indeed. Ms. April braved rain and mud puddles in rain boots and little else. Flowers strategically covered Ms. May, and Ms. June was dressed inappropriately for riding a bicycle. Ms. July could corrupt the pope, and-

“Wait. Go back,” Newt said.

“You like July?” Anathema waggled her eyebrows, prompting Newt to turn as red as Ms. July’s hair. “Is it the corset, or the sunglasses?”

“Anathema. Does she look familiar?”

She _really_ did. Back to the camera, her face was framed in perfectly coiffed hair and peeked over a pale, lightly freckled shoulder. She was very thin, but had strong shoulders, long legs with defined calves and hamstrings, and a pert little arse clad in naught but suspenders. The suspenders connected a black corset to stockings with a backseam which served to further accentuate her shapely legs.

And that face! If the sunglasses weren’t a dead giveaway, then the distinctive profile was: small cleft in the chin, strong bridge on the nose, playfully raised eyebrow, and a wicked curl to lips that could dive-bomb the most virtuous priest and the holiest nun straight to the deepest pit of perdition. _And a serpent tattoo in front of her ear._

Anathema’s eyes lost their faux innocence. They had _seen_ something, now. “Oh, _Hell._ ”

“That’s exactly what it felt like dealing with that man!”

The humans watched Aziraphale enter the back room – Anathema with amusement, Newt with growing horror – and shake himself like he’d walked through a spiderweb instead of discouraging a perfectly normal human from purchasing a book. At a bookshop. Like perfectly normal humans do.

“The nerve. One hundred pounds for a first edition? As if I could be bought!”

“Isn’t that… the point… of a bookshop?” Newt asked, inching closer to Anathema in a less than subtle attempt to conceal the calendar.

“We found something _really_ interesting,” Anathema said.

Newt all but screamed, “A letter! I found a letter about a robot that played chess. Do you know what the robot was called?”

Anathema cleared her throat, and presented the calendar for Aziraphale’s consideration.

Newt looked fit to have a stroke, and Aziraphale looked ready to join him for a tandem velocipede ride to Stroke City.

“Oh dear! Dear me! Where did- where on Earth did that come from, I wonder?”

They heard the front door open and shut. Everyone ignored it.

“This was in your things,” Anathema said.

“That- it- it was? Ha. Hm. Gracious. Must be a prank. Yes, a prank.”

“A prank by a wily serpent?”

“Likely culprit! Yes!”

She let the calendar fall open to July. “ _This_ wily serpent?”

Aziraphale had been on the train to Stroke City, but now he was all aboard, full steam ahead, for the Fjords of Fainting. Newt, however, detoured to Cape Confusion.

At this point, it would be patently ridiculous to suggest that this exchange summoned the wily serpent in question. Fortunately for this story, that is not what happened. He entered the bookshop of his own volition, thank you very much, and said:

“What?”

Anathema smiled as if she’d pulled off a bank heist. “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.”

“Literally,” Newt added, as if no one else got the joke.

“Nope. That’s the big red guy,” Crowley said. “Horns? Face like a giraffe kicked a bulldog? Teeth like a dentist’s nightmare? Or dream, I suppose, depending on the dentist.”

Aziraphale shuffled his feet, imitating Newt’s less than subtle attempt to conceal the calendar. “Crowley! Darling! How are you? What are you doing here?”

“Brought takeout. Like you wanted.” Crowley held out a bag.

Stunned, Aziraphale took the proffered bag of foodstuffs, clutching the handle like it were the wheel of a vehicle that would drive him to Anywhere That Isn’t Here.

“Mr. Crowley, we’re talking about something interesting we found,” Anathema said. “Something of Mr. Aziraphale’s.”

“Don’t tell me. A snuffbox. Or! A book!”

Silently, she sidestepped Newt and Aziraphale, and showed Ms. July to Crowley. His eyebrow rose, crinkling one side of his forehead.

Aziraphale hitched a ride on the Heart Attack Highway. Were his hands empty, he would have clutched his chest. He set the bag on a relatively clear surface and reached for the calendar.

“It’s nothing, really!” he said. “Don’t know _how_ it got in here.”

Anathema turned, cradling the calendar to her chest. Newt was close enough to stop her, but he wasn’t about to get between a witch and an angel. He’d sooner ride the London Eye – and he’d sooner tapdance over a minefield than ride _that_ thing, no matter how many times Anathema asked him to take her.

“You said it might be a prank,” Anathema told Aziraphale. “A prank by some wily serpent?” She focused her smile on Crowley, then found that she cradled naught but her own hands to her chest, for the calendar was now in _his_ hands.

Newt, terrified of raising the hackles of _a literal demon from Hell,_ tried his hardest to reroute the conversation. “Mr. Crowley, um, I didn’t know that you- that you had a twin sister.”

Everything went quiet. Deadly quiet. Newt wanted to crawl into a hole, or a cave, or an active volcano. The Volcano of Vaporization. Yes, that would do nicely.

The others laughed uproariously. Newt left the volcano to return to Cape Confusion, provided he ever left. His face scrunched up like he’d downed a mouthful of pickle juice.

“That’s _him!_ ” Anathema cried, pointing at Crowley.

“Huh?”

“Yup. That’s all me,” Crowley said, and cocked a look at Aziraphale like one might cock a shotgun. “Must be a real dish, too, if someone felt the need to keep this around for seventy years.”

Aziraphale blushed brighter than Hellfire, but he proudly raised his chin and sniffed snobbishly. “You looked lovely.”

Newt glanced at Anathema. The glance said, _We mustn’t mention the canoodling._

“Hey, I forgot,” she said. “I’m supposed to call my mom this afternoon.”

“Right. Yes,” Newt said. “Let’s get back to Tadfield. Before it gets late.”

It was only 1:03 in the afternoon, but Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t comment beyond saying their goodbyes. On the humans’ way out, Newt said, not quietly enough for the immortals to avoid hearing, “So, demons can change their, you know, shape? Like a shapeshifter?”

“Angels can, too,” Anathema said.

Crowley smirked, and stepped close to Aziraphale. He brandished the calendar, licked his lips, opened his mouth to speak.

And Newt interrupted him by yelling, “Mechanical Turk! Mr. Aziraphale! That’s the robot in your letter!”

The door slammed shut, presumably behind Anathema, who was presumably behind Newt. Presumably, pushing him to Puzzled Point.

“Is there anyone else here?” Aziraphale asked.

Sniffing the air, Crowley said, “No.”

“Good.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the door’s lock slid home with a _thunk._

“How’d you find this?” Crowley brandished the calendar again.

“Truthfully, I don’t recall. All I remember is that I had to have it once I saw you.”

“Aw, angel. That’s embarrassing,” Crowley cooed. “You were so smitten that you forgot something like that? Guess my temptation worked.”

“I should’ve known – a temptation!” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and scoffed.

Crowley lay the calendar on a stack of books, leaving it open to July. “Not jealous of a temptation, are you? You’ve never been the jealous type.”

“Of course not. I simply- I thought you looked beautiful. Really. That’s all.”

Crowley trailed his fingers up Aziraphale’s lapels. “That’s all? I can smell lust, you know.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his own and held them against his sternum. Softly, he said, “And what are you going to do about it?”

In a blink, the demon’s clothing changed to a near exact replica of what he’d worn for the calendar. The corset stretched differently across his currently male torso, and he wore underwear this time, though they were sinfully thin.

“My intentions are clear, yes?” Crowley asked.

Dear Lord, were they ever.

The two made sure that no humans caught them this time, but later, they may have thanked Anathema and Newt for uncovering Ms. July.


End file.
